


Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: When Faraday wears a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish," t-shirt, Vasquez takes it very seriously. Modern AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon any errors in Spanish. Let me know if I've used anything improperly and I'll fix it!

It was a lazy summer night at the Imperial, sluggish with humidity. The air conditioner had given out last week and the repairman hadn’t shown up to fix it yet. Anyone who dared to come too close to the bar would hear Emma muttering and cursing under her breath about it as she furiously wiped down the counters.

Faraday tapped the cards in his hand against the table and glanced up. Goodnight sat to his right, somehow managing to suffer wearing a three piece charcoal gray suit in this heat. Billy sat across from Goodnight, a tight black tank top clinging to his lean torso. He tossed two cards on the table and Faraday dealt out fresh replacements. It was rare for Faraday to come across someone he couldn’t read but he’d given up on trying to pin Billy’s tell. The man’s face might as well have been stone, for god’s sake, Faraday couldn’t get so much as a blink out of him.

Goodnight sighed and slid even further down into his chair as if he was melting into a puddle under the table. A boot brushed against Faraday’s heel and he pulled his leg back. For the past hour, Goodnight and Billy had been playing the longest damn game of footsie on record. And unfortunately for Faraday, he got caught in the middle of it by accident on occasion.

It started during their first card game, when Goodnight had mistaken Faraday’s foot for Billy’s. And it took Faraday all of one hot second to figure out what the hell was going on. Goodnight and Billy couldn’t keep their hands off of each other for two goddamn seconds of course.

So Faraday decided to have a little fun. But somehow, he seemed to have forgotten his brain along the way and didn’t take into account Billy’s black belt in karate.

Goodnight’s foot snaked out again, rubbed against the inside of Faraday’s ankle. Faraday sat perfectly still, fighting to stay composed and not give himself away. After a moment, he responded in kind, brushing his sneaker against Goodnight’s foot.

Suddenly, Goodnight’s ankle was riding higher, up Faraday’s calf, sliding along the inside of Faraday’s thigh…

And Faraday tipped his hand as he sucked in a small breath of surprise. He attempted to cover his mistake by shifting in his chair but Billy, without looking up from his cards, made a small sound in the back of his throat, something suspiciously like a growl. Faraday had less than a second to protect the family jewels before Billy kicked him, nearly sending him toppling off his chair.

Faraday kept his feet tucked under his chair after that.

“Fold,” Sam said now, surrendering his hand. He was dressed all in black as usual and despite the heat, it didn’t look like he had shed so much as a single drop of sweat. Much to Faraday’s annoyance. The back of his own t-shirt was soaked through and stuck to his chair every time he moved.

The purr of a motorcycle outside caught Faraday’s attention. The engine rumbled, low and deep, before it switched off into silence. The door opened, sending in a rush of sticky night air to add to the already stuffy bar room.

A pair of heavy leather biker boots came into view and Faraday’s fingers went still against his cards.

Sam raised a hand in greeting. “Vasquez, get over here.”

Faraday watched as Vasquez crossed the room. Sinfully tight black jeans, black studded leather jacket with a skull imprinted on the back, and the confident, cocky stride of a man who was used to forging his way through this world on brute force, muscle, and the adrenaline rush of a good solid fistfight.

In other words, trouble with a capital T. And Faraday had always been drawn to trouble like a moth to the flame.

Vasquez crossed the room, hands shoved in his pockets. Sam clapped him on the back and gestured to the table.

“You’ve met Goodnight,” he said. “This is Billy. And that is Faraday.”

Vasquez nodded a greeting to Goodnight and Billy and when his gaze fell on Faraday he lingered for a moment, eyeing him.

“Pull up a chair,” Faraday said. “If you’re man enough to join in, that is.”

It was a juvenile taunt and a weak one at that, definitely not his best. But it was enough to make the muscle in Vasquez’s jaw twitch. Faraday smirked. Got him.

Sam stood, offering his own seat. “I’m practically wiped clean anyway,” he said. “Better stop while I’m ahead.”

Vasquez accepted Sam’s chair, swung it around and straddled it, propping his elbows on the back. He tapped the table with his finger.

“Let’s go, cabrón,” he said, his voice thick with a Spanish accent.

Faraday grinned, swept up the cards and started shuffling.

Sam pointed at him as he headed for the door. “Play nice, Joshua. Billy, kick his ass if necessary.”

“Happy to,” Billy replied.

Goodnight lit a fresh cigar and offered one to Vasquez. “Where you from?”

“Mexico,” Vasquez said, accepting the cigar. “Chisolm helped me move to the States a year ago.”

“How do you like the great U.S. of A. so far?” Faraday asked, flicking the cards out across the table.

Vasquez picked up his cards with a grunt. “Americans are loud.”

“Best not pay a visit to the Irish then,” Goodnight said.

Billy snickered.

Faraday narrowed his eyes at Goodnight and almost delivered a snappy retort in return but Billy was staring at him, hard, and he decided a game of footsie had already earned him enough bruises for the night.

* * *

Vasquez was damn good with the cards and sent Faraday on a run for his money. Somewhere around one in the morning, Goodnight tossed his cards in and Billy followed suit.

“Well, gentlemen,” he sighed, rising and stretching long and slow like a cat. “I’m afraid that’s it for me. Vasquez, it was a pleasure meeting you. I enjoyed watching someone finally take Faraday to task with the cards.”

Faraday watched as Goodnight and Billy headed for the door. Goodnight slid two fingers into Billy’s back pocket, pulled him a little closer until Billy’s shoulder bumped against his and they stumbled into each other as they walked out. He caught a flash of Goodnight’s hands disappearing beneath the hem of Billy’s tank top, Billy nuzzling at Goodnight’s throat before the door closed.

Faraday shook his head. They weren’t even going to make it the five minute drive back to their apartment. It would be the back seat of Goodnight’s Jaguar then.

Vasquez rapped his knuckles on the table, pulling Faraday’s attention back to the present.

“You up for another round, guero?” he asked.

Faraday collected the cards and started shuffling.

“How long have you had the bike?” he asked.

Vasquez’s eyebrows shot up in appreciation and surprise. “Ten years, give or take. You have one?”

Faraday shook his head as he dealt the cards. “Crashed mine a few months back. Totaled it. Saving up for another one.”

Vasquez accepted his cards, rearranged them for a moment then flicked his gaze up to Faraday.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take you for a ride if you win the next hand.”

Oh. Faraday’s breath hitched in his throat. That was too sweet of an opportunity to pass up. His motorcycle had been his life for seven years and he missed it every single day. The idea of finally sitting on a bike again, with the landscape whipping past him, the open road before him and the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world…he ached for it.

“And if I lose?” he asked.

Vasquez shrugged. “I don’t have to share.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Faraday picked up his cards, studying his hand. And he swallowed a growl. He wanted…no, he needed to win this. He needed to feel the freedom of a motorcycle ride again. But lady luck was not on his side this time and it would be difficult to work with the incredibly shitty hand he’d been given.

He stole a quick glance at Vasquez. His face was passive, mostly unreadable, save for the way his gaze flicked back and forth across the cards in mental calculation. Faraday’s eyes wandered a little lower, desperate for some kind of tell…and found Vasquez’s pulse, fluttering at his throat, a bit on the fast side. He had a good hand then. Damn it all to hell.

At last, Faraday laid out his cards. And Vasquez displayed his winning flush as he burst into a wide smile, a brilliant flash of white teeth in his dark beard. Faraday didn’t even care how soundly he’d been trounced, he was too distracted by the realization that this rough, tough, leather-clad Mexican biker had dimples hidden away beneath that thick scruff.

“Looks like you lose, guapo,” Vasquez said.

He stood, tugged at his jacket and held out his hand. Faraday stared at Vasquez’s offered hand for a moment then raised his gaze to Vasquez’s face.

“Come on, cabrón,” Vasquez sighed. “No hard feelings?”

Faraday took his hand in a firm shake and stood. “Yeah, sure, no hard feelings.”

“Bueno.”

Then Vasquez took Faraday’s face in his hands and kissed him, hard, hungry, a clash of teeth and tongue, heavy with the taste of whisky and cigar smoke. Vasquez’s tongue licked over Faraday’s bottom lip, bold and confident and not a trace of hesitation, and Faraday opened his mouth in response, meeting Vasquez’s tongue with his own in a wet, hot slide that made Faraday whimper.

Vasquez broke away. Completely. He took a step back until it seemed like a chasm of space was between them where nothing had been a second ago. Faraday swayed where he stood at the sudden gaping absence.

“What,” he rasped, “the hell was that for?”

“Your t-shirt,” Vasquez said.

Faraday glanced down, pulled the hem of his shirt away from his body to inspect it because he couldn’t think straight enough to remember his name let alone what the blazes his t-shirt said.

KISS ME, I’M IRISH arched in bold gold letters around a stupid little shamrock with a dopey smile on its face.

He wore it as a joke, always looking for trouble like his mama used to say. But it would make the ladies titter with laughter and if he was lucky, a few brave ones might steal a little chaste peck on the cheek.

But no one had ever taken up the invitation and kissed him the way Vasquez had.

Vasquez hooked his thumbs in his pockets and backed up towards the door with that damnable smirk on his face.

“See you tomorrow, amorcito,” he said before he ducked out the door.

Faraday scrubbed a hand through his hair, his heart hammering at his rib cage. That man lit his blood on fire like no one else ever had in his life.

* * *

Faraday hardly slept that night, too eager to get back to the Imperial. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying that kiss over and over, the slide of Vasquez’s tongue against his own. He wasn’t a stranger to sex but sweet jesus, Vasquez sent his head spinning like a lovesick teenager obsessed with his first kiss.

The day was long, brutal, agonizing, until the clock finally shifted to six o’clock. They hadn’t agreed on a time but Vasquez had shown up the day before around six so it seemed a logical assumption.

Vasquez was waiting for him, biker boots propped up on the same table they had occupied the night before. His t-shirt - dark green, to set off Vasquez’s skin and dark hair – rode up just slightly to flash a strip of skin, a tease of hip bone.

He glanced up when Faraday entered and smiled softly, comfortably. A warm ache burned in Faraday’s chest at the sight. Definitely trouble with the biggest capital T ever.

Faraday crossed the room, nudged Vasquez’s foot.

“Didn’t your mama teach you to get your boots off the table?” he asked.

“You going to make me, guapo?” Vasquez replied, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Jesus Christ. This man was going to be the death of Joshua Faraday.

“Not here,” Faraday said. “Hell hath no fury like an Emma Cullen scorned.”

Vasquez frowned in confusion but Faraday shook his head and tugged a deck of cards from his back pocket. He dropped them on the table with a smack.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this started while the night is young, shall we?” He pulled the cards out of their box and started shuffling. “I want a rematch after last night’s disaster.”

“No,” Vasquez said, settling back in his chair.

Faraday stopped. “Pardon?”

Vasquez shrugged. “Don’t feel like playing games tonight.”

Disappointment stuck at Faraday like a pin, a tiny stab of pain before he quelled it. It wasn’t so much about missing an opportunity for a bike ride, though that might have been a very, very small part of it. Faraday had really enjoyed playing cards with Vasquez last night. He liked having an excuse to watch Vasquez, to study him from across the table as much as he wanted to under the guise of attempting to find a tell.

“All right,” Faraday said, abandoning the cards. “What do you want to do then?”

Vasquez didn’t reply right away, turning his head to take in the bar around him. His gaze finally drifted back to rest on Faraday.

“I want to go for a ride,” Vasquez said. “With you. And I don’t feel like leaving it up to the cards to decide if I get what I want or not.”

He slid his legs off of the table and stood, waiting. When Faraday rose to his feet, he found Vasquez to be so close that his shoulder was pressing into Vasquez’s chest. For the space of one thunderous heartbeat, Vasquez’s gaze flicked over Faraday’s face. Faraday leaned forward, expectant, every muscle in his body screaming for another kiss to take his breath away, to leave him light-headed and giddy.

But Vasquez pulled back, tugging on the hem of Faraday’s t-shirt, leading him towards the door. Faraday let his breath out in a rush, the tension of expectation sliding from his muscles at the same time that the tiny pinprick of disappointment blossomed to a ping-pong ball sized hole in his gut.

Faraday hadn’t actually seen Vasquez’s motorcycle before, only heard it, the smooth purr of the engine that hinted at an owner who took good care of her, kept her finely tuned and in tip top shape like she deserved.

And he was right on target. He stared at the sleek black motorcycle before him, red and gold flames tangled on either side of the body.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “She’s gorgeous.”

Vasquez grinned with pride and swung his leg over the seat, giving the engine a nice rev just for Faraday to see him smile like a kid in a candy shop.

Faraday scrambled onto the back, wrapped his arms around Vasquez’s torso, cheek pressed to his back. Vasquez peeled out of the parking lot and into the night.

Faraday had never ridden double before and it left him with no responsibility for the road, granting him the freedom to watch the rest of the world fly by, comforted by the rumble of the engine and the solid warmth of Vasquez’s body.

The Texas plains at night were an endless desert of black-blue sky and dark sands, sprinkled with a blur of pale silver stars. And the longer they twisted into the landscape with no destination in mind other than each other’s company, lost to nothing but the headlights illuminating the open road, Faraday couldn’t help sliding his hands beneath Vasquez’s jacket, skimming his fingers across the expanse of Vasquez’s chest. He tucked his chin over Vasquez’s shoulder and kissed the back of his neck, scraping his teeth over Vasquez’s earlobe. He felt more than heard Vasquez mutter, probably something or other in Spanish Faraday couldn’t understand anyway.

Without warning, Vasquez veered off the highway and onto a wooded lane. The gravel, ruts, and potholes compared to the smooth ride of the pavement made Faraday feel like his bones had come loose, rattling around inside his body like puzzle pieces. After a torturous fifteen minutes, the trees fell away and they were alone in the middle of a wide open field with the stars stretched out above them.

Vasquez cut the engine, slid off his bike, and turned around. Faraday was about to make some smart ass remark when Vasquez’s fingers curled around Faraday’s belt and yanked him closer until Faraday stumbled off of the bike and almost crashed into Vasquez.

Faraday stripped Vasquez’s jacket off in a collision of sweaty skin and quick, desperate kisses. But Vasquez gripped Faraday’s arms and pushed him back, held him at arm’s length.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What? But you…you started this!”

Vasquez glared and gestured at him, short and sharp. “That.”

Faraday froze. Looked down.

FART LOADING. PLEASE WAIT.

Laughter bubbled up in Faraday’s chest and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even get a handle on it. But Vasquez was not amused and he turned away, muttering in a string of incoherent Spanish.

Still giggling a little, Faraday caught Vasquez’s arm to stop him.

“No, wait, Vasquez, come on,” he said.

Vasquez refused to look at him, waves of annoyance radiating off of him.

Faraday grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged it off, tossed it to the ground.

“Better?” he asked, stepping closer to slide his hand around Vasquez’s waist. When Vasquez stood still as a statue, ignoring him, Faraday nuzzled at his ear and grinned when that got Vasquez to growl, low and deep and wild like his motorcycle. Vasquez tipped his head to the side, denying Faraday access.

“Tú y tus estúpidas camisetas.”

Faraday groaned despite the lingering laughter in his tone. “Oh no, no, no, don’t do that. You know I can’t understand a word of what you just said.”

“No comprendo.”

“Jesus. You’re more moody than a girl.”

But he could feel Vasquez softening, the resentment melting from his muscles as Faraday continued his attention to Vasquez’s jawline. He moved down the curve of Vasquez’s neck, scraping his teeth over his skin then soothing with open mouthed kisses until a line of dark marks blossomed along Vasquez’s neck.

And when Faraday’s hand drifted from Vasquez’s waist to his ass, that was the final straw. In one smooth motion, Vasquez knocked the feet right out from under Faraday and they tumbled to the ground. Faraday yipped with surprise then laughed when he found Vasquez straddling his hips, pinning Faraday’s arms above his head, faces mere inches apart.

Faraday grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Madre de dios, _stop talking_ ,” Vasquez hissed, burying his face in Faraday’s neck and shoulder, peppering him with kisses.

Faraday wedged his feet against the ground and shoved his hips up, desperate for friction against his aching cock. Vasquez didn’t budge but there was a sharp intake of breath at Faraday’s ear. He released his grip on one of Faraday’s wrists and planted his hand on Faraday’s hip, pressing him back to the ground again.

“You have a tell,” Faraday said in a sing-song voice as he caught a fistful of Vasquez’s hair and pulled his face up to kiss him.

Vasquez groaned into his mouth and started fumbling with Faraday’s belt without breaking contact. He slid his weight off to one side while Faraday kicked his shoes and pants off and that split second of mercy was all he needed. He sat up, twisted, and now it was Faraday straddling Vasquez’s hips, triumphant. Vasquez lay there smiling up at him, his dark eyes dancing at this new dynamic, Faraday on top, gazing down at him. Faraday couldn’t help but stare - those dimples, that cocky smile, were all for him alone out here in the wilderness beneath the stars.

Vasquez’s hands rested against Faraday’s thighs, warm and heavy and casual as Faraday made quick work of Vasquez’s belt. He watched Faraday’s fingers fly, fueled by desperation and the heat of the moment. But when Vasquez’s cock sprang free from the confines of his jeans, he didn’t touch it, didn’t give Vasquez that release Faraday knew he needed. Instead, he splayed his palms over the strip of skin that appeared when Vasquez’s shirt hitched up from their rough housing, the strip of skin he had wanted to touch, to kiss, when he walked into the Imperial less than an hour ago. He tucked his fingers beneath Vasquez’s shirt, sliding torturously slow along his warm, lean torso until he was face to face with Vasquez again. He nudged at Vasquez’s nose with his own, lips barely touching, not quite a kiss, just a tease. Vasquez tilted his chin up to close the last miniscule space between them but Faraday pulled out of reach.

Vasquez glared and hooked an arm around Faraday’s back, yanking him down. Faraday chuckled against his mouth, scraping his teeth over Vasquez’s bottom lip. Until Vasquez canted his hips up and their cocks brushed together. Their mouths fell open at the same time on a gasp at the contact.

“Christ,” Faraday hissed. He scrambled for a grip on Vasquez, something, anything to hold onto, to ground him as his body shuddered with his crumbling self-control. One hand bit into Vasquez’s hip, the other knotted in Vasquez’s hair.

Vasquez hummed in satisfaction. He reached up to cup the back of Faraday’s neck, foreheads pressed together. His other hand disappeared between them and his thumb skated over the tip of Faraday’s leaking cock, making Faraday squeeze his eyes shut and arch at the pure, raw pleasure that singed through every nerve in his body like wildfire.

Vasquez curled his fingers around their cocks and pulled his hips back, leaving Faraday with that achingly cold absence again. He waited until Faraday almost whimpered then drove his hips forward, sliding their cocks together again, sending sparks sizzling through every nerve in Faraday’s body.

Faraday swore, loud enough to echo off the surrounding trees. Vasquez laughed, soft and low like thunder rolling through his chest, and Faraday felt every vibration of it felt it in the palm of his hands resting against Vasquez’s ribs, felt is in his thighs squeezing Vasquez’s waist.

Faraday couldn’t wait a second longer and started rolling his hips, slow for only a second or two before he sped up, desperate. Vasquez’s fingers tightened against Faraday’s neck and Faraday felt his own grip tightening in response, fingertips pressing into each other with hunger, greed, need and a burning, raw want.

Words tumbled from Vasquez’s lips in a messy tangle of Spanish and English as Faraday picked up the pace, endearments and swearing all jumped up in one incoherent mass. And when Faraday’s hips started to stutter, Vasquez sat up, wrapped an arm around Faraday’s back in a crushing embrace before he pounded up into his hand. As Faraday came, he kissed Vasquez so hard his teeth caught Vasquez’s lip and he tasted blood in that kiss, blood and salty sweat and desert dust. The wet slide of tongues matched the wet friction of their cocks as Vasquez continued to thrust, relentless and wild for only a little while longer before he spilled over too.

Vasquez toppled backwards with a groan, taking Faraday with him, their breathing ragged in the silence. Faraday peeled himself away and rolled over onto his back next to Vasquez, looking up at the glittering night sky. It was too hot and sticky for bodily contact to be very comfortable, especially after the workout they’d just had, but Vasquez’s hand crept over anyway, laced their fingers together. Faraday glanced around, wondering where exactly he’d left his clothes.

“Don’t even think about it,” Vasquez said without looking at him.

“What?”

“Don’t ever wear that shirt again.”

“Make me.”

Vasquez opened one eye, turned his head to look at him.

“I like the other one better,” he said.

Faraday raised an eyebrow, smiled. “Yeah?”

Vasquez nodded.

Faraday pulled away, searching on hands and knees. Vasquez propped himself up on his elbows.

“What the hell are you doing, cariño?” he asked.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Vasquez pointed to where Faraday had stripped it off of him minutes ago. Faraday grabbed it and pawed through the pockets until he found a pen. He turned his back on Vasquez, glanced over his shoulder to see that Vasquez wasn’t peeking. Vasquez waited, leaning back on his elbows.

Faraday turned around. FUCK ME, HSIRI M’I was printed across his chest in wobbly black ink.

Vasquez laughed until he was red in the face. Faraday glanced down at his chest in dismay.

“Shit, I didn’t...writing upside down is a lot harder than it looks, okay?”

Vasquez caught his wrist, pulled him closer. “Get over here,” he said, still laughing as he kissed Faraday to the ground again, his hand trailing down Faraday’s chest to his already swelling cock, smudging the ink to an unreadable smear.

**Author's Note:**

> Amorcito: little love  
> Cabrón: dumbass, asshole  
> Cariño: honey, sweetheart  
> Guapo: handsome  
> Guero: a light skinned, and/or light haired person  
> Madre de Dios: Mother of God  
> Tú y tus estúpidas camisetas: You and your stupid shirts.


End file.
